Bully
by TuningFork
Summary: [AU] Harry grew up in far-from-ideal circumstances, and so he grew into a far-from-ideal boy. This does not mean he is any less worthy of saving, even if that means Dumbledore has to deliver his Hogwarts letter during visitation hours. Warnings for depictions of abuse and violence.
1. Visitation Hours

_I've read a lot of fics where Harry is abused, or neglected, or left to other extraordinarily terrible circumstances. However, the vast majority of these fics portray a kind-hearted child that could do no wrong. At the very least, these Harry's are usually vulnerable and damaged and shy._

 _However, in real life many people will take this sort of negativity and have it spike outwards. Many of the bullies I knew were insecure and angry at themselves or their circumstance, and were the victim of some sort of bullying themselves, whether it be other children or an adult figure._

 _I do not write this fic to be apologetic for these people and children: they still will do genuinely mean and hurtful things, regardless of their own situation. Rather, I write it to imagine a different sort of Harry, a Harry that is still damaged, but less sympathetic at the onset. He is not Dark!Harry or Anti-hero!Harry, but hopefully a Harry that is just as worthy of healing and love as any other._

 _I hope you enjoy._

* * *

The picture from old school records (Albus had to do quite a bit of digging to get to them) looked like exactly what James Potter would have looked like at six years old, complete with round glasses and soft black hair that fell over the forehead.

But this boy in front of him, wearing a dark blue uniform that hung at least a size too large over a thin frame, bore almost little no resemblance. His hair was shaved close to his head, scar plainly in sight, and there were no taped together glasses perched on his face. He had a split lip and a dark red bruise shadowing his left cheek.

He did have green eyes, just like his mother, but they were not full of laughter like hers. They didn't have the sad, pensive look hers occasionally held either. Instead, the boy kept a hard, angry gaze with a sharp edge, revealing no surprise or vulnerability. Albus got the distinct feeling that if there weren't the bulletproof window clouded with scratches and fingerprints, the boy would not hesitate to slash his throat.

Both of them sat silent, waiting for the other to make the first move. The guard had told them they had twenty minutes.

Albus sighed.

"How are you doing, Harry?"

"What's it to you, old man?"

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'd really prefer it if you called me Albus."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I don't have to call you anything, until you explain who you bloody are, why you're here, and what you want from me."

Dumbledore repressed the urge to sigh again. "Tell me Harry, have you gotten any unusual correspondence in the post recently?"

"I don't get any mail."

"Ah yes, quite reasonable that it might not have gone through that way." Albus could imagine the guards cutting the wax seal and laughing at the letter inside, magic school for scrawny Mr. Potter, and cruelly tossing it in the shredder. "Do you remember anything unusual of late? Perhaps an owl, with an envelope in its beak? Perhaps an owl that was at your window trying to get in?"

The boy made an admirable effort not to look surprised, but Albus could see the stoic gaze shake a little bit.

"Well, if it weren't for your… extenuating circumstances, you would've known that the content of the envelope would read as follows." He took out a piece of paper that didn't look quite normal, too thick and too yellow to be from a printer, and read it aloud.

" _Dear Mr Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress"_

Albus set the letter in front of him, turned towards Harry so that he could read it through the window.

"As for your questions, I am the headmaster of Hogwarts, I am here because we did not receive notification that you had read the letter, and I would like ask you if you'd like to accept our admissions offer."

At this, Harry let out a short bark of laughter. "A school of witchcraft and wizardry? Owls? I knew that your lot was full of idiots, but I didn't know that they picked ones this stupid."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're a social worker, aren't you? Trying to get at me by giving me this load of bull, trying to make me talk about my feelings or my bloody dreams or some other shite like that. Well, Mr. Dumbledore, I think you're at the wrong place for this. You should try those schools for slow kids that are fucked in the head, they'll eat it right up."

Harry leaned forward a little, smirking wickedly.

"I'll give you some extra points for that beard though, you do look like bloody Merlin."

Dumbledore really shouldn't have been surprised at any of this, and it was his own fault that he hoped the boy would have been delighted at the prospect of Hogwarts, or at the very least a way out of Feltham Young Offenders Institution.

"Perhaps this will convince you then."

Albus pulled out a wand, another detail Harry snickered at, and floated the letter in the air. Harry pulled back a little, doubt still not completely shaken. Albus sent the letter through the window, sending ripples through the plastic as if it were water, and had it gently land on Harry's lap.

At this, the boy's jaw dropped, and he frantically turned around. "Did you see that? Did you bloody see that? Oi!" The guard that had escorted him to the booth paid no attention, as if he were deaf. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"

Albus allowed himself a small smile. "My dear boy, at the moment, the guard only sees a kindly old man visiting his grandson, asking him about his day and if he's been eating his vegetables. This too, was accomplished with magic."

Harry stared down at the letter, crumpling it in his hands. "You're insane, old man."

"Harry, I could show you many other things, magical things, fantastic things, but I believe you would simply brush them off as flashy tricks. I'm sure you are still a bit shocked at all of this, so I won't push you to make your decision now. Rather—"

Dumbledore took out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, and sent it through the window like the letter.

"Take this box of jelly beans, think of them as a gift from my visit, they're quite good. If you would like to become a student at Hogwarts, put one of the beans underneath your pillow before the end of the week, and we'll respond within an hour or two."

"The guards—"

"Will not be able to see the box, or the beans. The other boys won't be able to either. Here is another gift." Albus took out a framed picture, something he'd wished to give to the boy for years. It saddened him a little that he could not pass this by hand.

"This is a picture of James and Lily Potter." Harry did not react, even as he saw the two figures wave at him from the image. "Your parents, a year before they had you." Albus's voice became much quieter. "I'm sure they'd be proud of you."

At that, Albus could see Harry just barely twitch. "I would stay longer, but it seems you aren't in the chattiest of moods." The old wizard stood up, and put on the bright purple suit jacket he had draped over the back of his seat.

"By the way Harry, even if you choose not to accept our offer, if you ever need anything, or would like to enjoy my company for some odd reason, just place one of those beans underneath your pillow, and I will try my best to accommodate you."

Albus expected a snapping reply of some sort, but Harry didn't even look up, his eyes fixed on James and Lily in the photo. Albus turned around, and walked towards the exit. He could hear the boy being roughly pulled out of his chair.

"All right you, looks like your visit is up. Back to the cell."

Dumbledore had never been so nervous about a prospective student's decision.


	2. Glasses

_Wow, the first chapter got a pretty good reaction. Thanks to all of you who followed, favorited and reviewed. And of course, thank to anyone reading this. It's one of the best feelings in the world to know that someone is taking the time to read through something you wrote and enjoyed writing._

* * *

Harry was in the first grade for a whole term before his teacher had realized that he needed glasses. It was during a math lesson about multiplication, and Harry had been called upon to answer what "this line, right here" would be.

Harry had never been called upon before, and he never, ever raised his hand. All of the students in the room turned around to face him, and the teacher raised an eyebrow at his stunned silence.

"Mr. Potter, will you answer the question, or will we have to sit around waiting for you to answer, until the day's classes are over?"

Harry could hear Dudley snicker in the back.

"I—I can't quite see what's on the board, miss."

Miss Miller's voice softened a little. "You've been sitting in the first row since the first day of school. Do you mean you haven't been able to read the blackboard until now?"

Harry's voice also grew softer, but for different reasons. "Ye—yes, miss."

"I see. Well, I'll have to contact your aunt about getting eye correction. But for now, please tell me what six times seven equals."

Harry sighed in relief. "Forty-two, miss."

Later that day, Harry would come back to his very annoyed aunt and uncle. Vernon remarked on how much of a "weakling the little brat is, just like his father." Petunia, decided that needing glasses was another "mark of lazy insolence, an excuse not to study," so Harry went to bed without supper that night. She took almost a week to drag Harry to optometrist (Miss Miller had to gently remind her when she noticed there were still no glasses on Harry), and got Harry the cheapest pair in the shop. The smallest size for that style was too large for him, and they kept on slipping down crookedly, giving the boy a perpetually confused look.

Harry did not appreciate his newfound ability to study more effectively for very long. Dudley had found new comedic material to work with, fueling razor-sharp barbs such as "four-eyes." It also was one more weakness that Dudley could expose at his whim, by simply snatching the glasses from Harry's face and throwing them into the bushes or onto one of the higher shelves in the classroom.

It wasn't that Dudley hadn't bullied Harry before, and the name-calling and lost glasses were annoying, but not unbearable. Really, it was the fact that everyone else decided that it was great fun to join Dudley now. Before, Harry was just a little smaller than everyone else, with clothing a little more threadbare. He never drew attention to himself, never did anything that was truly weird or worth ridiculing. Now, he had glasses, the first one in his class get them, and suddenly he stood out. Even worse, his other shortcomings that had been ignored were now brought under the magnifying glass of ridicule.

When Dudley called him names, a few other children would join in as well, circling around Harry and shoving him back and forth. When Dudley wanted to play hide-and-seek with Harry's glasses (or his backpack, or his homework), there would be two other boys to hold Harry against the wall while Dudley tried to come up with a particularly brilliant hiding place. Harry would feel helpless.

And Harry hated, hated, hated feeling helpless.

Near the end of the third and last term of Harry's first year, Dudley was a little too rough while catching Harry's glasses tossed by Piers. He grabbed it just hard enough to finally snap the glasses at the bridge, which had been long bent and battered.

At first, Piers panicked, feeling a sick weight at the bottom of his stomach. Dudley and him had actually broken one of Harry's possessions, something Mrs. Dursley actually spent money on. If Harry told the teacher, both him and Dudley would get in big trouble. But then Dudley said not to worry, this sort of thing happened all the time, neither of his parents would care if he broke Harry's glasses. In fact, they would probably tell him what a strong young man he was growing up to be.

Piers looked down at Harry, held down by another boy on the dingy bathroom floor, squirming and trying so very hard to escape and regain some form of dignity. There were tears welling at his eyes. For a brief moment, he felt a flash of guilt, but it was gone.

He asked Dudley to pass him the pieces of the glasses. Then, while looking at Harry straight in the eye, he took the glasses and crushed them under his sneakers, grinding them as if they could leave a smear on the tile. It felt marvelous.

To Harry's horror, he felt a sob clawing its way up his throat, expanding like wet cotton, then expelling itself from his mouth. He tried to stop it, but it only made it worse. He sounded like a wounded animal, making an ugly sound that resounded in the bathroom along with the howling laughs of Dudley and his friends.

He didn't know how long his crying lasted until he felt the knee lift off of his back. Piers suggested that they flush the pieces down the toilet. Dudley, at the young age of six-and-a-half, may not have been very book smart, but he had a keen instinct for knowing how to make Harry hurt. He said to leave the shards and twisted metal frame on the floor. He knew Harry would try to fix them up, maybe with Scotch tape or white paste, and it would be even worse than not having them at all.

Harry spent the rest of the day in class. He didn't bother paying attention to what was happening, and instead he just cradled the remnants of his spectacles in his hand, careful not to cut himself on the sharp edges of the glass. When he went back to the Dursley's house, Petunia gave him a sound tongue-lashing about wasting their hard-earned money with his carelessness, and again he went to the cupboard without supper. Since it was so near the end of the school year, she decided that he wouldn't be getting a new pair until the second grade, when another teacher would bug her about his eyesight.

Illuminated by one bare bulb, Harry looked at the little shards, his whole body still feeling like it was drowning in humiliation. He knew that Dudley wanted him to fix them, and he knew that he would look absolutely ridiculous if he did. Harry just wanted to curl up into a ball so small that he would be shrink to the size of a mouse, then a speck of dust, and then finally disappear into nothing at all. He wished Piers had crushed him under his foot like his glasses. It probably wouldn't have hurt as much. That night, he went to bed with the same wet cotton sensation in his throat, but he didn't cry himself to sleep. Instead, he wished he could be different, not so weak, not so helpless.

The next morning, when Harry woke up, he reached for the place on a shelf he usually placed his glasses, only to feel bare wood. He sighed, and then opened his eyes, prepared to go about his day half-blind. Instead, he saw his cupboard crystal clear, even better than when he had his glasses on. He blinked, to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

Then, for the first time in a long time, Harry smiled.


End file.
